Page 63 of Always Be My Pumpkin

‘I made up packages with jellies and chocolate and craft materials with the money we got from sponsors. And Flynn printed certificates and wrote a funny poem to go with each. We’ll set things up as soon as he gets back.’ She bobs her head cheerfully. ‘But it won’t matter if he’s late, I have everything we need.’

‘Sounds like you have it all under control.’ My chest pinches. Flynn never showed me any of those drawings, or poems, or told me about any of their plans.

Olena must notice the flat note in my voice. ‘Does it, Gracie, are you sure?’ She takes the drawings I hand back to her. ‘Flynn told me not to bother you with details until we had everything ready to go. He said you want each group to manage their own event, and that Gertrude and Finbarr aren’t keen on the idea, so we should do our best to prove you right, that you can trust us to manage on our own.’ She tilts her chin, her expression hopeful. ‘I think we’ve done a good job.’

‘You really have.’ I straighten and smile. ‘But I’m here to support you, so if you need anything, you only have to ask.’

‘Thanks, Gracie.’ She waves her bundle then skips around the side of the desk to use the photocopier.

Gertrude and Finbarr are settled in our usual spot when I arrive at the Corner Bar for our final meeting. They’re sipping hot toddies with slices of lemon dotted with cloves. I order a Malbec then shrug off my dripping rain jacket and take the bench opposite.

Finbarr sets his glass to one side, opens his notes folder on the table in front of him, and turns it to face me. He’s made a list of our festival activities in one column, and alongside that he’s drawn three narrow columns with headings. Excellent, good, and poor.

‘Now.’ He pushes the folder towards me and points to the open page. ‘Most of the activities so far have taken place in the library under your guidance. I’d like you to take a look at this list and rate each activity according to how successful you think it was.’ He peers across the table, clearly surprised by the horrified look on my face.

I’m tempted to tear out his carefully curated list and rip it in half. But that’s not my style and I know he means well. Still, I can’t help but choke out a slightly hysterical laugh. I prop my arms on the table, ignore the offending folder, and face Finbarr instead.

‘Finbarr, we’ve had an amazing week. We’ve had workshops and story times, poetry readings and book club meetings. The whole village, especially the library, is covered with crochet colour and there are hand-made decorations everywhere.’ I point to the autumn leaf garlands adorning the nearby shelves and pillars and to the window ledges filled with dried flowers and pumpkins and endless fake spiders.

‘And we haven’t even got to our Samhain’s Eve activities yet.’ I sigh. ‘Do you really think I’m going to check anything but excellent after our fun spooky spider workshop or our lantern-making afternoon? What exactly are you asking me to assess here? If the children laughed loudly enough while they were glueing on beady eyes? Or is it technical precision you’re after? Do I dock points if one of the pipe cleaner legs falls off before Halloween?’

I stop to draw breath as the bartender places a glass of red wine beside Finbarr’s list, and I grab it and take a good slug. I look across at Finbarr, pushing back into the upholstery, staring at me like he’s worried for my sanity. Then I notice Gertrude beside him, silently smiling, and my heart lifts a little. She and I may have different approaches to managing, but we’re equally proud and protective of the library we love, and of the people who do so much to make it special.

‘Gertrude and I will get together with the volunteers when the festival is over,’ I tell Finbarr, and I watch his shoulders drop, the tension ease from his face. ‘We’ll ask the volunteers and participants how they felt their activities went, if there’s anything they’d like to add or tweak for next time, and if they felt supported enough.’

I take another sip of wine and relax back on my bench. ‘We will evaluate, but we’ll be thinking about our performance as much as theirs, and how we can support and build the festival for the future.’

Finbarr leans forward and taps on the table, and I know he’s itching to interrupt just to hear his own voice. I shake my head firmly because I need to move this on. I told Sarah and Scott I’d have a drink with them after the meeting, and it should only take an hour.

‘I get where you’re coming from.’ I offer him my best reassuring smile. ‘But this is a community festival, and yes, there will be things we’ll want to improve on, but there’s no way I will ever rate anyone’s contribution as poor. So, let’s put this aside.’ I close his folder and ease it across the table. ‘Let’s focus on tomorrow and what we can do to make sure everyone has fun.’

We spend the next half hour working through tomorrow’s programme. Pat and I will judge the pumpkin sculptures, Finbarr and Gertrude will judge the stingy jacks. We’re just getting to the treasure trail, and I’m about to tell them about Flynn’s clues, when the side door swings open, and Moll twists her head around the door and scans her beady eyes across the room.

‘All clear,’ she calls over her shoulder, then trudges towards us with Barty close behind.

‘We want diplomatic immunity.’ She thumps a wizened fist on the table. It takes a moment for the request to sink in. I’m busy staring at her frail wrist and purple veins, wondering how this tiny woman managed to smash an enormous mound of pumpkins. But then I remember that was Barty, and I had a feeling, when we confronted them, that Moll wasn’t impressed with him, but she wasn’t about to take our side over his.

‘Since when are you a diplomat, Moll?’ Finbarr gets in first.

‘Immunity from what?’ I follow, ignoring the diplomat part. Moll is the least diplomatic person I’ve ever met. Although Barty might be worse.

‘Immunity, witness protection, whatever you call it.’ Moll sweeps the table with a scowl.

‘Witness protection?’ Audrey claps a hand over her mouth, struggling to keep a straight face. She flew straight over to our table as soon as Moll and Barty came in.

‘We’ll tell you who gave us the paint and the placards.’ Barty elbows Moll aside and leans in over Audrey to focus on me, and the whole table reels from the sour whiff of manure. ‘It was all his idea.’ He growls his at me as though I know exactly who he means.

Moll grabs his arm and hauls him back, and we all breathe. ‘But we’re not giving any names until you agree that we can come out tomorrow evening.’ She puckers her thin lips in a pout. ‘It’s not fair. We’ve been coming here every Friday since before you were born.’ She scowls at me. ‘And we were only following orders.’

Gertrude splutters her drink and Finbarr rolls his eyes. ‘For God’s sake, get on with it,’ he growls. ‘We have work to do.’

‘It was the Roche fella.’ She folds her arms tight and stares me down. ‘He said that young Yankee lad, the good-looking one . . . He said he was bullying Pat into giving him the shop so he could sell it on to the plastics crowd.’

‘For goodness’ sake,’ Gertrude snaps. ‘There is no plastics crowd.’

‘Right, well, I wasn’t sure about it.’ Moll sniffs. ‘He seems all right to me. The Yankee lad. And he’s very easy on the eye.’ She ignores my arched brows. ‘But he said we’d be doing you all a favour, especially Pat.’

‘And he made it worth our while,’ Barty blurts. ‘And he said he’d buy us pints tomorrow night. But now you won’t let us in.’ He glares at Finbarr, and then me.